Foxy and Faux

Off the tracks and deep in the trees.
Charlie fell down to his knees.
It was getting dark and he was tired.
Lost in the forest of Bagley Byard.
His little feet could take no more.
That’s why he collapsed onto the floor.
But through the trees and through the tears.
He came upon one of his fears.
For there before him stood a fox.
His teeth protruding, like small sharp rocks.
He knew that foxes could be quite vicious.
Despite their fluffy tails, they were most capricious.
And could snap and tear at poor Charlie’s throat.
Releasing a scream and his final death note.
So Charlie stood, and stared and prayed.
Hoping the small fox, would just go away.

It was getting late and he was hungry,
But past the point of being angry.
It was tough to be a vegetarian fox.
While the others chewed on rabbit and ox.
Little red spent hours searching.
For wild asparagus and all things nourishing.
He’d wandered now beyond the borderline.
And though it sent a shiver down his spine.
To be so close to the human track.
His stomach pushed him on, not back.
And then he saw the young boy ahead.
He stopped and froze, and cocked his head.
And hoped he hadn’t seen his fur.
His freighted eyes, his tiny stir.
For little red hoped as his legs now were jelly.
To not end up, in that boy’s belly.

Reverse back to tomorrow

I travelled down that road, only to get lost again.
Trying to get back again.
If I meet you there, I apologise; I would’ve failed.
Seeing the destruction in your eyes.
A strength you needed was not coursing through this DNA.
The magic in my makeup was only to enable disappearance.
To be made of steel, with golden wings.
Would be a tale for another time, and another version of me.
These signs that I pass, trying to be born again; or to shift the paradigm.
Tell me not of where I am headed, or where I have gone.
They only illuminate where I should already be.
Holding out for tomorrow to be different today.

Gossamer touches

Feeling the space, breathing upon a windowpane of pleasure.
Your lips, only an exhale away.
Trapped in a falling dream on golden gossamer thread.
Sticking to me like a forgotten memory.
Lost in the centre of your eyes.
Rush warm sensation.
Mouths intertwined.
A lover’s reflection.
Strung up like dew in the morning light.
Melt me into sunshine with a touch of your skin.
Breathe from within.
Slipping out of my soul while you sleep.
To kneel before the creator, and thank him for your existence.
Here on earth. Here next to me.
Underneath my skin and painting pictures in my mind.
A masterpiece, dripped on a canvas threaded with our DNA.
The brush strokes of the age. The hand of God, guiding our bones.
As we tread through our museum of moments.
We, the only tourist in our time; seeking grand adventure.
Purposely getting lost.

I came to disappear

Through wanderings of a hallowed heart.
That blesses the soil it treads upon.
Within it tolls a silent bell.
Which calls for time and distance.
And leave me not in that harried place.
Of ill begotten souls and woe.
That race about like dying rats.
And burn the imaginative pith to shadows.
We come alone, and all in pieces.
Figuring out where it all began.
I came out of the dark, and yet too close to the sun.
Now watch me disappear.

I know what I am chasing….. (PT I)

Alex stared out of the dirty window in his third floor apartment. The noise from the streets below floated in on the wind, sounds of traffic and everyday bustle. The water had finished boiling about five minutes ago, but Alex continued to stare outside; transfixed on a moment in time far removed from anything in the here and now. Something was missing, or perhaps a miss he thought. He’d watched it play out a hundred times before, the movie in his head rolled forward; staging the moment time and again when his heart had collapsed. Bodies all around, pavement; yellow in motion, blurring around a corner. Lost…

The phone on his desk rang, splintering the images, sending them cascading down out of the window and out of view.  He looked over and saw his phone next to the piece of paper he’d been avoiding for the past few days. Alex ignored the phone and made a cup of tea. Light was coming in from the window to his left and felt good on his face. He sighed and sat back down at his desk. The blank paper loomed in front of him. One missed call, nothing important. Nothing that will change his day and not the person he wanted. Suddenly the smell of flowers and formaldehyde washed over him. On warm days, the funeral parlour below him would open their back doors; today the sun was dripping down like butter on the city. Alex shook his head trying to shake away the smell, the masking of death and decay with flowers; the beauty of a funeral against the ugliness of death. He’d been looking for interruptions all day, but enough was enough.

Sipping his tea he picked up his pen to begin. Where to start though? he thought to himself. He had everything before him, the paper, the envelope, the stamp with the inaccurate face of the queen poised in time at twenty six. He had everything but the words. Words usually betrayed him, like cheap sentiments they were always conjured so freely. Tongue tied and twisted when the face appears, loosing his breath.

‘’Well, they’re not here now!’’ he spoke aloud to the empty room, only the pigeons on the window sill seemed to hear him, ruffling their feathers in supposed agreement. Here was the opportunity to say everything, overkill if need be, but time to get this out; it had been like a cancer corroding the heart. Suddenly a shadow passed over his window, darkening the small room. Alex looked over, spilling his tea slightly. Entering the frame and coming into to his room was a heart the size of a football, it throbbed as it descended inside. Alex watched as it came in, making only the rhythmic sounds of a heartbeat. It wasn’t the medical kind like that of a human heart sliced up by tiny lasers in hospitals, more of the ones that appear above people’s heads in cartoons.

Despite its crude appearance however, the insides were swirling around like of a washing machine with torrents of blood, motioning backwards and forwards in their swell. It stopped a few feet away from him and started to get darker and darker. For some reason images started flashing through his mind; silhouettes of faces, a date in a diary, tears over his own face as he watched from above like a spectre. The images pulsated through him like a radiation wave from the heart. His head ached.

Blinking back to the moment, Alex watched the heart; mesmerised. It was changing from a bright red, blurring down into a deep rich maroon colour. It remained in the air in front of him for a few minutes and then began to shake slightly, vibrating statically like the buzz from a telephone line. Alex held out his hand to touch it when a blinding flash of light crashed outward and cracked the room around him. Suddenly the heart started to move. Alex exhaled, paused only for a moment and began to follow it.

Opening the door and down the stairs Alex rushed, the heart floating through objects without a care like in a video game. Out in the mid day sun people around him seemed not to notice the Hannah-Barbara world into which he had descended. The heart it seemed was his apparition alone, his illusion, his spiral into madness. Down the street, past the newsagents that sold tatty imported porno magazines stuck next to cheap greeting cards for ‘A special niece’ and ‘ A Birthday boy’. He caught up to it for just a minute, he reached out to touch it before being pushed back by a force that felt like the heat from an oven, smothering his pores and taking his breath away for split second. Like many things it seemed, he could see, witness and be in the presence of the heart; but never touch. At least not without pain.

A spark was beginning to glow from within it now, at the bottom tip it began to throb and sway with the motion of its movements. Alex couldn’t take his eyes off of it, much to the annoyance of the few pedestrians currently making their way on that particularly warm March day. He rushed on, not giving a care to those he banged aside. A mum with a pushchair dropped the middle class façade her tailored clothes offered and shouted enough fucks to turn the most desensitised passer-by’s head. Alex was oblivious to it all, the spark had triggered something within him, and a memory was coming into focus like a body out of the fog.

If only the people around him could take a picture Alex thought to himself, as his life un-paused and free-fell into the future. If they could take a souvenir to remember this moment. Alex breathed out as the tears crawled down his face. The memory he’d only allowed himself to remember in a picture book, and very rarely, had exploded before him. Vibrant colours illuminated a world distant and familiar. An array of images blended into one another, his face with theirs. The words ‘I love you’ spattered the floor like an emotional downpour.  The moment when he knew he loved them, told them and was pattered on his head for his efforts. For a few seconds it seemed the words would be returned, the lips pursued and suspended in a opera of tension, translucent trails to happiness; the quiet suggestion of infinity. He had to walk it back from the edge, the help of an invisible force pulled him down. What he’d witnessed had happened to him, not too long ago; but it had all seemed so foreign to him them.

Suddenly, he was back in the street, the heart hazy now in the sun. The blue sky seemed to overwhelm him and press down on his body. Why was this so important now, on this day?  Hearts break everyday, his had been shattered for a while; the pilot light flickering just to keep him alive. Everything happens for a reason, he shook off his dizziness and continued to follow; the heart responded by increasing its speed.

The noise and clattering increased as he reached Baker street station. The familiar sight of London maps in stranger’s hands as the vacant eyes swept the surrounding buildings. Alex sped on, past the lines snaking outside Madame Tussauds. Clicks and whistles of foreign tongues culminated into the passing traffic. The heart it seemed was starting to fade….

TBC….

Love libarys lost

He skipped to the last pages of the book that he held like a bible in his hands, hands that had privately explored every secret and every page of the story. Words danced out before him, lost in their own rhythm; reaching their exhausting climax. The ending made no sense as usual, and he momentarily searched his thoughts as to why he’d begun it in the first place.

Ahh, that’s right; the cover looked so intriguing.

He placed the book back on his shelf, nestled it in-between an old copy of Harry Potter and his well-presented and orderly kept CD collection. There it was to remain, unopened and unexplored for an age as the dust that collected hung to the tops of the exposed pages like a glossy film. Over time the spine faded and the adventure was forgotten.

From the shelf, as if the characters had crawled from the pages to investigate, it was noticed how a new book was begun and captivated him. Other volumes cried tears of time as they were passed over again and again in favour of the new and intriguing yarn.

Until one day it was no longer present.

Unbeknownst to those who viewed from the shelf; the book was lost on a rainy Tuesday in the month of November whilst travelling on the underground. As is the case of public transport, too many souls shoved together in the tiny tin can, made for distractions and wandering of minds. Making sure his jacket was straight and his phone was buzzing like always, he had left the book on the seat next to him. A careless gesture one might say, like the throwing of a used cup out of the car window; as the residue drips from the inside. But secretly, upon discovery; he did not mind too much as the new book didn’t interest him as much as he had let on. Maybe someone else is reading that story now, on the Hammersmith and city line.

 

Professional forgetter

Wiped clean, like a smear on a window.
The fuzzy snow descended, hastening a lie.
Trying to forget me.
A twist and turn of those events, chalked up now in time.
Lay me down.
Wipe me out.
Hurrying the thoughts of the forgetful, the anger of the deceitful.
What deception is there? What transparency was muddied?
You stick your dirty finger into the crystal stream of us and shake.
Shaking it like a teacher to a child.
Colour inside. Stay out of the rain.
That wasn’t what I mean.
You stick to the treacled words and fly paper underneath.
Swatting the truths that appear like clouds.
Whispering such revelation.
Threatening to collapse it all undone.
Erase this now, box up those moments we shared.
The heart you held within those dirty hands.
Forget the unforgettable.

Cursory reverie

When you’re wrong you’re right.
How blessed you are, what fallen angel are you?
Yet your crown looks crooked, tin foil all twisted.
Below my feet, the earth is no longer there. You’ve lost me in your sky.
Lost me in your world, where the rules don’t apply.
Yet there are fires of destruction burning on my tongue.
Ready to lick at your cheek, come into me.
My hands, feeling to where the wings should be.
Asking me to stay in your version of paradise.
Wanting me to stay talking to your strangers.
Breathing underwater.
I’ve got too many blocks, too many eye rolls. They didn’t get there by themselves.
So you’re not going to find me there.
Memorising the ABCs of your life.
I’m breaking free, digging it out. Making good on the change.
Shaking it off.
Growing up.
Reciprocity was just my wandering reflection.
Love was just a passing thought.

Coordinate my heart

Trying to find you on a map today, elusive and disorientating.
All lines and colours.
You’re lost to me, like thirty minutes in the wrong direction.
Asleep on the train.
The thorn in your side is me, the smile and frown pulling you under.
I barely stay afloat myself, holding on to these little rejections.
Devastated, my heartbeat quickens.
Deflated, the blood thickens.
No coercion in love, no help from above.
Just sweet words that fall to the floor.
Faster than the time before.